Bad Luck
by Hromiko
Summary: Sometimes it doesn't pay to get out of bed. Nothing is going right for Ezra this Friday the 13th.


This was the first piece of fanfic I ever wrote, way back on Friday March 13th 1998, when M7 was brand new, before the entire 1st Season had even aired. It may not be a masterpiece, but I could've done worse. I'll spare you the giant author notes I would've put before posting to a fic list, but I will say it was inspired by the realization that it was the second Friday the 13th that year.

Disclaimer: I own nothering and will soon own even less as I continue my schooling to get a Masters.

**Bad Luck**

_Knock, knock, knock._

J.D. Dunne waited, listening for any sound from inside the room. After a minute with nothing, he knocked again.

"Ezra?" he asked the closed door. Still, there was no response. He turned the knob slowly to see if the door was locked. It turned easily, so he cracked the door open a little, not looking in.

"Ezra," J.D. said more loudly through the opening. There was no answer, so he poked his head into the room. Ezra lay across his bed, fully dressed and very asleep. With an exasperated sigh, J.D. threw the door open, allowing it to bang noisily against the wall.

"Ezra!" he nearly yelled when the man on the bed didn't move at the clamor.

There was a click, and J.D. froze at the derringer pointed in his general directions. Ezra lifted his head and looked at him tiredly through bloodshot eyes. "What are you doing here, Mr. Dunne?" Ezra asked, sitting up and dropping his gun.

"The judge is leaving town today."

"How fortuitous for him," he said, rubbing he eyes. "And you are here because. . .?"

"He wants to see everyone before he goes. A big night last night?" J.D. questioned.

"Prolific," he replied, not bothering to explain the meaning, even though he saw J.D.'s confused look. Ezra stifled a yawn and stretched a little, still not getting up from his bed. He had a horrible headache and felt a little nauseous as well.

"Well, come on," J.D. prompted.

"Now?" Ezra asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Yes, we need to get down to the street now, and no, there's no time for you to shave; he's leaving soon."

"There is always time for a gentleman to prepare," he said with a smile, finally standing up. He escorted J.D. to his door then shut it firmly behind him.

"Ezra!" J.D. called through the door. "Hurry up, the stage is going before long! It's almost noon!"

"Not so loud, Mr. Dunne," Ezra was a little surprised it was so late, but a quick look out the window confirmed it. "No need to worry, my young friend; no one has gathered outside yet."

J.D. hit the door once more then stomped down the hall.

Ezra leisurely took off his coat and walked over to the mirror. He unbuttoned his vest and noticed a tear in the sleeve of his shirt.

"When did that happen?" he asked himself, fingering the rip. He changed the shirt then prepared to shave. As he shaved, he hummed a little tune and tried to remember the previous night's events.

"Just too much to drink," he said as he carefully shaved under his chin. The sound of people in the street alerted him to the fact that the stage would soon be leaving. Momentarily distracted by it, he nicked himself.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, looking in the mirror at the thin stream of blood mixing with the shaving cream. He finished shaving quickly and continued getting dressed; occasionally feeling the cut under his chin to make sure it wasn't still bleeding. "I haven't cut myself shaving in years," he said, shaking his head as he picked up his hat and went out the door.

* * *

Judge Travis was already speaking with the other six men of the group. Ezra noted the displeased sideways glance he received from Chris, but ignored it. "I should be back in a few weeks," the judge continued. "I have every confidence that you all will continue to keep the order in this town as well has you have been."

"All loaded," the stage coach driver said.

"I'll miss you," Mary said, giving him a hug. "Send my love to Billy and tell him I'm looking forward to his visit when you return."

"I will," Judge Travis said, getting into the stagecoach. "Take good care of this town," he told the seven men through the window.

With a knock on the roof, the stage began its trek out of town. It was soon obscured by its own cloud of dust.

* * *

The seven men and Mary went their own directions; J.D to the sheriff's office, Nathan and Josiah to the church, Mary to the newspaper, and Vin, Buck, Chris, and Ezra to the saloon. 

J.D. took a seat by the door and made himself comfortable, feeling the power of being the law in town. It didn't particularly matter that the jail was empty right now; things were never quiet in Four Corners for long. With the judge just leaving, J.D. was sure that some criminal types would get it in their heads that it'd be a good time to make trouble. With a satisfied sigh, he leaned his chair back and watched the street.

Josiah and Nathan climbed up onto the roof of the church. They had repaired most of the damage, but some parts could still use fixing. The noon day sun was hot on them as they worked, helping each other. They didn't say much, except to ask for some thing they needed, instead they concentrated on the work and on the thoughts in their hearts and minds. Josiah decided to fix up this church because he knew that the people of the town needed it; however, he still had issues in his heart about whether or not he was the one best suited to help this town. Nathan was there to assist a friend. He hadn't known Josiah long, though he knew of him for quite a while before they actually met. Still, he felt a closeness to this man, and he knew there was goodness inside him, even if Josiah wasn't so sure. They would have this church ready eventually, but neither man knew what would be done with it.

Mary returned to her newspaper office. It was always nice to have family in town, but she still needed to get the Clarion out in time. She worked out some final bugs, looked over the advertisements and checked the printing press, all the while thinking of her son and how much she missed him. Billy had been away from her so much since her husband's death. Even with the separation, she hadn't given up the hope that this town would soon be a good place to raise him. As the headline said, the seven hired gunmen who kept order in Four Corners had cleaned up much of the bad element and the town was flourishing.

Vin, Buck, and Chris entered the dimly lit saloon and took seats at a table off to the side. Ezra got a coffee, still feeling the effects of last night's activities, and joined them.

"Have fun last night?" Buck said with a mischievous grin.

Ezra looked at him over his coffee with raised eyebrows. "It was productive," was all he replied.

"Well, try not to be so 'productive' when there's something to do the next morning," Chris commented.

"I witnessed the judge's departure."

"Barely."

"It's the thought that counts," Ezra said with a smug look on his face as he took a deck of cards out of his pocket. He began shuffling them idly to take his mind off the ringing in his head. This was one of the least pleasant hangovers he could remember. Maybe he was coming down with something. If he hadn't checked his boot to be sure his money was still there, he'd be worried about how he'd performed the prior night.

"Can I interest you gentleman in a game?" he asked displaying the cards. They nodded and were soon playing. Ezra dealt the cards as he always did, sure of which cards were going to which people, but when he picked up his cards to look at them they weren't the ones he'd dealt himself. His poker face kept him from showing his confusion, but he couldn't understand how it had happened. The other men at the table had no expressions as they asked for cards, nothing that said their cards were especially good or bad. Ezra was surprised that he couldn't read their faces or movements; it was as though he'd been blinded to all their mannerisms that usually helped him know their intentions.

Deciding to make the best of the hand he had, he drew three. Amazingly the cards he got were worse than the ones he gave up. He chose to fold and the others played out the hand. Ezra wondered if he'd somehow mixed things up as he shuffled so he was careful while shuffling the second hand. This hand had the same disastrous results. A third and a fourth hand ended similarly. He was at a loss of what to do and Buck, Vin and Chris looked a little surprised at his bad playing.

"Having some bad luck?" Vin asked as Ezra dealt again.

"Just testing your skills," Ezra replied, his face a mask of professionalism.

"If you keep testing us you're going to lose all your money," he said with a smile.

Ezra gave him a sarcastic look but continued playing. By the eighth hand he was feeling a little frayed at the edges. Nothing was working. Cards that he knew he was dealing to his hand were ending up in other's and he couldn't see anyway that they might be cheating. It was with great relief he saw a regular at his table enter the saloon. Louis Fredrick was not a good poker player by any standard, but he was addicted and sure that the next hand would be a big win.

"If you'll pardon me, gentleman, I have to go speak with someone," Ezra said excusing himself from the table but leaving the cards for them to play with. It seemed something was wrong with them anyway.

* * *

"Mr. Fredrick!" Ezra greeted the man amiably.

"Mr. Standish," he returned with a guarded smile.

"Would you like to play a few hands to pass the time?" he asked gently guiding the man towards his regular table.

"I, yes, of course," Louis consented. He was feeling lucky today.

Ezra took out another deck and began the game with two other individuals who moved over to the table.

About fifty dollars later, Ezra was sitting in stunned silence.

"I can't believe how well I'm doing today," Mr. Fredrick said ecstatically.

"Nor can I, Mr. Fredrick," Ezra said morosely.

"You were right, Mr. Standish," he continued, pride shining in his eyes. "I just had to keep playing and finally my time came."

"Yes, indeed."

Josiah and Nathan entered the saloon ready for a drink after a hard few hours of work. They got drinks and joined Vin and Chris at a table. Buck had run off to see some lady friend.

"How's the church coming?" Chris asked.

"Good," Josiah answered sitting down hard. "The roof's all done and the outside only needs a little more painting."

"Sounds like you got a lot done," Vin said.

"Yep," Nathan said taking a long drink from his glass.

They sat in friendly silence and Josiah's attention was drawn to the cards on the table.

"Playing a game?" he questioned.

"We were for awhile," Chris confirmed.

"Ezra seems to have lost his touch," Vin said smiling and indicating the corner table where he was playing. Josiah looked and saw that things didn't seem to be going Ezra's way.

With a big smile he called over to Ezra, "How's it going Ezra?"

Ezra looked over at him but said nothing.

"Karma finally catching up to you?"

"Past actions have nothing to do with this game, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra responded.

"Maybe you're just having some bad luck," Nathan suggested with a grin. "It's Friday the thirteenth, ya know."

"Oh really, Mr. Jackson? I give no credence to fatuous superstitions."

"Still looks like you're losing," Nathan countered.

Ezra grimaced and turned back to the game. One more hand, if he didn't win he was leaving.

* * *

As Ezra walked out the door he avoided looking at the table where his fellow law enforcers sat and tried to ignore the laughter that followed his departure. This had to have been the worst playing of his life. He'd done better when he was first learning from his mother! Thinking of her, he decided to check and see if he'd received any mail. 

He went into the small post and telegraph office. As it turned out there was a letter for him with a return address in St. Louis. "I guess mother decided to go back," he said as he broke the seal.

"'Dearest Ezra,'" he began reading to himself. "'I'm writing to inform you of a small dilemma' What on earth has she done now?"

He quickly read through the letter. Apparently she had returned to St. Louis too soon and was in trouble with the law. She wanted his help to alleviate her tribulation. With a sigh he folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. He wired his mother that he'd get there as soon as he could.

Ezra walked down the boardwalk toward the saloon. He wanted to tell his friends that he'd be leaving town for awhile. After the threat Chris had given him, he wasn't going to leave without them knowing his reasons. He couldn't imagine there being a problem considering he was going to aid his mother.

There was an alley before the saloon and as he was passing it, Ezra heard a noise coming from behind some boxes. He stopped in his tracks and moved slowly toward the noise.

"Don't move," a voice said from behind him. Ezra started to turn in the direction of the voice but stopped when he felt the barrel of a gun pushed into his back.

"Is there a problem?" he asked in a steady voice.

"Yes, there is you dirty, cheating, good-for-nothing fraud," the voice growled in his ear.

"I think my hygiene surpasses yours by far."

"Shut-up or I'll shoot you." The click of a hammer accompanied this comment.

Ezra stiffened and shifted his eyes up and down the street.

No one who could help him was visible.

"What do you want, sir?" he inquired coolly.

"To see you swinging," the voice chuckled. "But I'll settle for your money."

"I'm afraid I have none to offer you."

"What? You spent all my money already? I don't think so."

"Check my pockets if you wish."

"I do," the voice said feeling Ezra's coat and vest pockets. He pushed him back into the alley and turned him around to get a better look.

Ezra recognized the man as a ranch hand who came to town the week before. He had not been much of a poker player and Ezra had taken most of his salary.

The man still had his gun pointed at him, but was checking to see if anyone was paying attention on the street. With a twist of his wrist, Ezra tried to get the gun he kept up his sleeve.

There was a click but no gun came out. Ezra was sure he'd put it back.

What an unfavorable time for it to stick, he thought. The noise attracted the attention of his attacker.

"Trying to make trouble?" he asked waving the gun menacingly.

"Of course not," Ezra said pausing to remember the man's name. After a moment with nothing coming to mind he asked. "What was your name again?"

"Don't go insulting me," he said taking a step forward. "Now give me your money!"

"I cannot oblige you, my friend, howe--"

"I ain't yer friend!" With that he slammed the butt of his gun into Ezra's head. Ezra stood stunned for a moment then fell to the ground with a low moan. He lost conscience with a faint awareness that the man was feeling his pockets.


End file.
